Thursday, June 22, 2017

“Yuugo” is a hero anime about Yugo, the self-trained
globetrotting wordsmith. With his iron
will, cultural savvy, and bevy of friends to supply him with gadgets and
support, he proceeds to meddle in world politics while ostensibly rescuing
hostages from dire situations. Split
into two separate arcs, the series focuses first on Pakistan and then
Russia. However, due to each half being
produced by a separate studio, there is a notable shift in style and tone
between the two. While this does not
create any inconvenience for the viewer, it does result in a bipolar split in
my rating and review.

Pakistan:

The sterling effort that went into portraying the locale,
giving it a gratifying foundation of realism, cannot be overstated. The vehicles, geography, dress, factions,
architecture…a general awareness is displayed on all fronts. While there are errors, they felt minor, of
the sort that experts and locals would notice.
It is only fair to forgive them in light of the implicit respect shown
through the high degree of research.

Nowhere is this more striking than its incorporation and
depiction of Islam. As befits the
setting, the entire atmosphere is imbued with its essence. The calls for prayer, the litanies and
rituals, and the terms form the fabric of Pakistani culture. “Yuugo” manages to walk the fine line between
recognizing its unifying power as well as the faults and extremes it
produces. It also demonstrates great
discernment between the religion and the people. While the devout could be laughably quaint,
violently deranged, or deeply holy, it was the men who were that way, not
necessarily the beliefs. It was
assiduously anthropological, seeking to portray the culture, not to assess it.

Colonel Warcrimes reporting

…at least until Yugo gets to the village. This is the one part of the series that I was
confused by. When tied to the rock he
chants passages of the Koran and is miraculously able to withstand the
heat. I presume the idea is that Yugo
was attempting to swindle the onlookers, passing off his superhuman
perseverance as divine intervention to buy their trust. But the presentation at the time gave the
impression of a false conversion, a subtle demeaning of their beliefs by the
patently-superior outsider, especially as this was the first demonstration of
Yugo’s “powers” in the anime. I was
never able to shake that sense of trivialization afterward.

Moving down from the culture to the people themselves, the
general intelligence of the characters involved deserves mention. The Colonel is able to sniff out the
oddity of Yugo’s ploy, interprets the signs of the money transfer, and pursues
doggedly but competently. Despite his
hackneyed depiction, complete with a maniacal disregard for life and paroxysms
of rage, he was a worthy foil to Yugo's schemes. Ali, for his part, may have been a zealot but
he didn't fall for obvious tricks. He
had to exhibit some degree of cunning in order to lead his men. It made the unfolding of the plot more
enjoyable, as it truly is a competition between people rather than our hero
sailing to an easy victory.

All of this is dusted off with a subdued, almost faded,
color pallet. It was superbly effective
at portraying the sun-bleached desert climate, where everything seems to
swelter in the unbearable heat.

7/10

Russia:

Russia is where it all goes wrong. While it still maintains the semblance of
what made the first half enjoyable, it simply lacks the same execution. The research into the country is still solid,
with the plot centering around real locales and events, but its presentation is
less vibrant. Similarly, Russian
“motherland” patriotism is substituted for Islam as a cultural ethos, and yet
again doesn’t seem to quite bear the weight as convincingly. However, the worst changes are to Yugo and
the nature of the plot.

Yugo morphs from dickering champion and part-time masochist
to a self-employed James Bond. No longer
is he limited to his radio-operator buddy for a single HAM radio. He can now command a GPS that hacks spy satellites,
a radiometrically perfect reproduction of an antique, snugly-fitted
professional winter gear, and even a hidden lock pick in his belt. And not to be outdone by his exploits in
Pakistan, he suffers two torture sessions with no aftereffects, walks
30km in a -40ºC Siberian storm at night, and premeditates his own ignorance so
as to avoid confession. I half
expected him to storm the Kremlin at the end to resolve the problem.

"And please bless папа, and мама, and all the little plot holes."

The plot is also on thin ice. In Pakistan Yugo is forced to react to
unexpected deviations, counting on the intelligible behavior of his allies and
enemies to see it through. In Russia, he hero modes his way through his problems, surviving the patently
impossible, only to ask for seconds. He
banks on Olga’s hidden patriotism overcoming her dismay when he shows up in her
room and suggests that she frame a colleague as a traitor. In the resolution, he confidently appeals to
the educated patriotism of a devout Russian girl to divine the final three
numbers of the code. Yes, that’s right. His ace in the hole was a 12-year-old solving
a 70-year-old riddle out of the blue.

I’m not sure I can even blame the studio change, for unless
they entirely rewrote the script this entire segment felt as though it was just
trying to push harder. The hostage more
pitiable, the stakes much greater, the brutality more refined. It pushed suspension of disbelief in
Pakistan, but by the end of the Russia arc it takes a leave of absence from
reality.

5.5/10

Yuugo is a curious series.
It is convincingly cosmopolitan, with a sincere and accurate portrayal
of the cultures its primary objective.
Trickling down, the people involved are also appreciable for their
multifaceted nature; passed off for who they are and what they want, they can
transition from foe to friend on circumstance.
But its reliance on Yugo’s outlandish abilities failed to persuade me,
and in scoring I am forced to come to a compromise between its two halves.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

“Pushed into a corner, even a mouse will turn and bite you. Push a twenty-something into a corner, and they’ll go to a brothel and publish a report about it on the internet.” – Private Report

What compelled me to read this manga, I will never know. Normally on seeing such a title I would dismiss it as a racy story based on lurid self-divulgence, the sort that have gained such popularity through masking voyeurism as personal expression. However, something lured me in. Maybe it was the source of the recommendation (thanks sj), a peculiar mood, or an embarrassing lapse in my own standards. Whatever the reason, I am grateful that I read this little gem.

“Private Report” neatly sums up the nature of this work. On one hand, it is deeply personal: it is autobiographical, detailing the confusion and mental ordeals of the author’s 20s. Intimate and completely uncensored, it is a full disclosure of her experiences. However, coupled with this is a sense of detachment. It is not a plea for pity but an informational summary designed to enlighten others.

What makes Private Report so appealing is the candor with which she approaches the topic. There is no moral to the story, no judgment on her part of herself. She elucidates what did happen, not what should have happened or even why she thought it happened. This latter part is crucial, for she avoids entangling herself in psychological theories that can often warp the perception of such events. Whenever she does speculate, she makes it obvious that she is doing so, and usually after the fact. This clear separation of observation and causation bears witness to a personality with an extremely developed sense of self-reflection.

She also displays a great deal of tact in what she omits. This might be surprising; after all, didn’t she detail her entire sexual encounter with a prostitute? Her approach is very genuine; given her tendency to live in her head, it is all about what she is thinking (NSFW), the visuals almost an afterthought. The style also comes to the rescue, preventing it from being truly pornographic.

But more deeply than this, sex is not terrible. What is terrible, and what she only mentions in passing, is her tendency toward self-harm. Early on she comments on the scars on her arms (NSFW), but declines to display their origins. Later she comments about how for the first time in her life, “Die” was off the options. Yet never once does she mention her suicidal tendencies directly. I suspect she skips these in part because of the painful memory, but also because she is a very conscientious author. She isn’t writing this manga for casual consumption, but out of a mature self-reflection, and it comes through. Drawing panels of her cutting herself would simply be vulgar and add nothing; it would stoop to making her suffering a spectacle.

This also brings me to the humor. The subject material is deadly serious, yet her wry and hilariously honest thought processes manage to keep it light-hearted, even in the most intimate of scenes (NSFW). It is the sort of humor that doesn’t make one laugh out loud, but instead grin or slightly chuckle at the verisimilitude to one’s own aberrant thoughts.

Finally, one element that I think she is very aware of in herself and I find very pertinent is her comment on the effects of fiction on her perceptions. Nowadays we are smothered in artificial depictions of all situations in our lives, and this creates an ungrounded network of expectations which are more and more removed from reality (NSFW). Another layer of fantasy that all of us must dig through to find contentment.

While Private Report may seem inappropriate to some, it is a deeply earnest expression of uncertainty, growth, and hope. The contradictory and confusing modern milieu that affects us all now is one of the defining aspects of the current generation, and the author artfully expresses the suffering and disorientation that many experience as a result. At the end I found myself overjoyed that she found her “new nectar”, as it reflected on that general hope that we can all find that someday.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Michiko to Hatchin – 7-7.5/10The journey series. A whimsical mixture of idyllic wandering coupled with the hardship and uncertainties of life on the road. The seeking of something that, ultimately, is not as important as the experiences and people encountered along the way.Michiko to Hatchin is a picaresque entry into this category with a distinct 80s Latin American twist. Taking place in not-Brazil, it follows the escapades of Michiko, an escaped convict, and her abducted daughter Hana (Hatchin) as they search for Hiroshi, their ever-elusive boyfriend/father. Like similar Manglobe productions it has a combination of flippant grittiness, casual violence, and dark humor that make it simultaneously disconcerting and approachable. However, despite its unique flourish, Michiko to Hatchin suffers from the general problem of being “good” but not “great.” Everything it does it does competently, but not expertly. Its characters are solid, but not exceptional. The action acceptable, but not amazing. The humor worth an occasional chuckle, but nothing more. Ultimately it’s worth a watch, but not a revisit.

The Good:If there is one thing that Manglobe grasps well, it is the tragedy of poverty, and nowhere is this on better display than Michiko to Hatchin. At every turn, the specter of want hangs over people. The ceaseless scrambling to get out of the pit, the obscene value of money to change lives, and the subsequent corruption that accompanies that power is all too real. It can only be described as pestilential.This leads to some of the most impactful, most horrifying, yet understated, scenes of the series. The one that stuck with me the most was the death of Pepê Lima and her sister Lulu. What is so terrible about it isn’t the graphic nature, but the subtle treatment it is given. Michiko sees Lulu being chased by the boys (children, really) with guns, and then it simply shows us no more. When Pepê is caught, all we see are the muzzle flashes and then black and the credits. Approaching it this way, it creates a simultaneous sense that these events are both too terrible to be viewed and yet so commonplace they aren’t worth dwelling on. Afterward, even Michiko is forced to ask herself, “Why didn’t I help?”

Kids with guns, kids with guns // Taking over, but it won’t be long

Michiko to Hatchin also bypassed another common hurdle with ease: the
ending. Except for some concerns
(below), the final resolution was a satisfying reiteration of the primary
themes. It wasn’t locating
Hiroshi that was the climax, but their final embrace. In fact, he was disappointing, and his later
abandonment of Hatchin was true to character.
I thought it was a subtle touch Hatchin didn’t want him to use that
name: “Hatchin” is her mother’s name for her, and her father has no right to
use it. It was also very true to form
that series didn’t resolve neatly, but with Hatchin committing the same
mistakes as her mother. It
left a strange sensation, but overall a positive one that life’s vagaries are
not inevitably tragic.

Finally, the Brazilian atmosphere was a nice change of pace from the usual anime fare, with the favela a far cry from the usual Japanese neighborhood. The bright, ramshackle setting gave a frenetic atmosphere to many of the scenes, and a worrisome decay to others. Overlaying this was the racial diversity in people, a rarity in anime. From white to black and everything in between, Michiko to Hatchin is populated with an impressive sampling. I personally found Michiko herself to have an exotic beauty that sadly wasn’t given much exposure due to her flamboyant tendencies. Rita’s design was also striking in its elegance.This does, however, call into question the curious oversight in naming: Michiko, Satoshi, Hiroshi, Atsuko, Shinsuke, and Yamada are hardly traditional Latin American names. Why the series failed on this point I do not know.

"Satoshi"...he's Japanese, right?"

The Bad:By their nature, peregrination series must be a certain length to capture the variety and vicissitudes that power their core themes. However, in the case of Michiko to Hatchin there was an oppressive repetitiveness to the events and interactions that made the length feel excessive.One of the prime offenders is Michiko herself. She has only one way of resolving situations: force. She never bargains, never cooperates. When things inevitably go south, she has not the wits or subtlety to avoid the use of violence. When she is in a pinch she can only punch. While it is fair to argue that this is an accurate portrayal of a woman with a coarse manner and ignorant upbringing, as a viewer it meant that all the situations felt predictably the same.

You could talk it out just once.

This was made worse by the predictability by which Atsuko, her childhood friend-turned-cop, would let her off the hook. Every time Atsuko had Michiko in her grasp she would relinquish control. It became less about their relationship and more about plot convenience. It ensured that no matter how many times Michiko brutalized the police, or how effective they were at finally cornering her, she could always just get away. This was particularly painful in the last sequence, where after their emotional separation, and Atsuko’s insistence that she will not recognize Michiko next time they meet, she still has the gall to tell her fellow inspector to halt. There was simply no reason for Atsuko to wield that kind of power.This one-dimensionality also spilled over into the relationship between Michiko and Hatchin. Repeatedly we are treated to the same scenario: Michiko proves herself to be abrasive and immature, Hatchin is disappointed and frustrated by her mother, they exchange a heated conversation and usually at least one slap, one or the other leaves, Hatchin gets in trouble, and the episode/arc is resolved by Michiko riding to the rescue. By duplicating this situation a few times the writers effectively filled out the first half of the series.

However, don't mess with grandpa.

And the Champloo:As I watched Michiko to Hatchin, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons with Samurai Champloo. Both are from studio Manglobe and are built with remarkable similarity. From the quirky characters to the incorporation of “foreign” aesthetics, it becomes rapidly apparent that Michiko to Hatchin is an attempt to recapture the magic of Samurai Champloo in a new setting. However, in nearly every regard it is less engaging than its predecessor.Take for instance the dynamics between the main characters. In Michiko to Hatchin the relationship is very simple one of mother and young daughter. There is a pre-existing vision of how this relationship should play out, where Michiko is comforting and supportive and Hatchin is valued and cared for. During the series, then, the interplay of the two is like a tug-of-war along a single axis, where every situation brings them closer or further away from this vision. There is no further exploration of “relationship space” beyond this. From the beginning there is a clear end goal, an ideal state that the series will steadily approach.Comparatively, Samurai Champloo’s three protagonists have triple the number of relationships (Mugen-Jin, Mugen-Fuu, and Jin-Fuu as opposed to just Michiko-Hatchin). Not only this, but these relationships affect each other, and the shifting focus of the series examines each of them in turn. For instance, Mugen and Jin experience a mutual rivalry and respect. But their antagonism is buffered by Fuu, which gives it another dimension when she is there (and highlights her absence when she is not). Pairs also break off due to circumstance and this gives a variety to the experiences as each of them must figure out what (s)he means to the others. And since there is no pre-set way in which these characters must relate, there isn’t a sense that they are growing toward a foregone conclusion.By this comparison I don’t intend to demean Michiko to Hatchin. It is an enjoyable series on its own terms. The mother-daughter dynamic will inevitably be different than that of three young adult wanderers, but using this style of series to explore it was simply less engaging and fruitful than it was for Samurai Champloo. If you enjoyed one of them, I would recommend the other due to their similarity of theme and construction (unless it was just for the sword fights, then you’re out of luck).

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Angel’s Egg is a surreal Christian Rorschach test that submerges the viewer in a gallery of meaningful, but uninterpreted, images. It is one of the most fluidly alien works I have ever consumed. What follows can only be described as my own attempt to find the bottom.

First, the relevant facts:
•Oshii (the director) had extensive training in Christian theology
•Oshii had a sort of falling out or crisis of faith prior to the production of Angel’s Egg
•Oshii himself stated he didn’t know what the film was “about”

When first diving into Angel’s Egg, the first thing one needs to do is prepare to look for meaningful, religious symbolism in every scene and event. The second is to then abandon the thought of specific interpretations being the “right” ones. The best way to describe the design of the symbolism is “archetypal.” Water, trees, eggs, shadows, bones…all are so universal in human thought that one can hardly call them uniquely Christian or even religious in nature. This causes each of the scenes to have multiple valence levels, wherein the part of the observer is no longer passive in their meaning.

Every scene in this movie is a piece of art in its own right.

Take for example the men chasing the shadows of fish. Fish have an obvious link to Christianity, both in the fish symbol and the “fishers of men” phrase. Using this iconography, it has been suggested that this scene represents those of blind faith chasing after an ever-elusive true belief, only to damage the world around them. A secondary interpretation in the same current is based on the identifiably ancient structure of the fish. In this case they are not elusive but extinct: the shadows representing the belief that used to be, and the men are futilely attempting to reclaim it. Finally, yet other commentators suggest that by virtue of being shadows the fish must represent the negative of faith, the fallen angels that lead men to destruction intentionally. There is no clear consensus. But in all cases, the irreducible nature of the situation is unchanged: there is something that cannot be caught, yet men seek after it with all their might, even to the detriment of what is around them. A theme universal.

This brings me to an important point that is often sailed over: while there may be many “correct” interpretations, there are most certainly many wrong ones. For instance, the scene above is emphatically not about man’s lust for power and the subsequent spoiling of the world. Nor is it an allegory about the continual search for ultimate scientific truth, and the resulting horrors that it has caused. There are bounds to the interpretation. It does not take the shape of every container.

Because of the nature of this work, I feel it is only proper that I also descend from the position of author to get my feet wet in explaining what I experienced personally…and the truth of it is, it meant nothing to me. I have floundered for days, reading explanations and watching reviews. Cognitively I can explain what Angel’s Egg is, and emotionally I can sense the potent longing permeating its core, but these two things are not soluble with my own character.

Perhaps an example will do. Near the end of the film, the two journey to a building replete with bones. They wind around the columns and are embedded in the walls. Clearly, if any place is to be called a mausoleum, representative of death and the passage of time, this is it. My first response? Oh, it’s a museum (why else would the skeletons be mounted in the walls?). What a curious, but harmless, place. Dead? Yeah, they’re dead; so what? Dead creatures aren’t horrific, tragic, menacing, or a failure…and I wonder what species they are…?

"Here is the bird."...that's not a bird...

I don’t intend to be flippant with my remarks, but truly the symbols one after another passed me by as unnatural, with hardly a ripple. It was like deciphering another language, one I did not speak natively. Intellectually I could grasp the literal meaning, but there was a palpable sense that their deeper impact was flowing through my fingers. I drew some solace from this review:

“This movie’s images tapped into the subconscious reservoir of my fears and desires, [but] maybe the images will mean nothing to another. It’s an expressionistic work, that however exquisitely crafted, will fall flat for some people.”

Because of this, I have decided for the first time to not award a rating to an anime. Angel’s Egg is pregnant with meaning to those who are attuned to it. It will drown you or baptize you, and I have been both surprised and humbled that I cannot encompass it through my intellect alone. I depart from Angel’s Egg, returning to more familiar seas, with the realization that there exist in the deeps things I cannot take the measure of.

Monday, June 5, 2017

If there is an anime which best demonstrates the difference between “quality” and “enjoyment,” Texhnolyze must surely be it. Texhnolyze is a deliberately crafted view into the abyss. It is completely uncompromising in its vision and pursues the implications of a Godless world in which all sources of meaning are in full retreat.

To fully appreciate Texhnolyze, a short explanation is in order. With the rise of empirical science and the discretization of traditional Christianity, the idea of God has fallen into disfavor. However, without God to hold the cosmos together there is no absolute source of morals or values. All is will and chance. This has led to a profound sense of alienation. There is no benevolent, understanding God and man doesn’t belong in nature, so there is nowhere to turn. We are estranged from ourselves and others by the inherent unknowability of our own psyche, the subconscious beast that lies in wait beyond the reach of rationality. The dream of reason and the dream of faith are gone. All that is left is for us to wander in this chaos until we meet the common fate of death.

Texhnolyze is a metaphor for this experience. The series begins in the ironically-named city of Lux, located in an unearthly underground cavern. Here the remnants of humanity huddle, locked in violence with each other. How humans came to this place is never explained, but ultimately it does not matter. While there are some who exist beyond the city, we shall see that they have not escaped this shared fate. The protagonist Ichise is a prize fighter, content to live a menial life of casual brutality and indulgence. A lost soul, he is forcibly awakened from his mental slumber by the events of the first few episodes and now doomed to be free in a world that is itself adrift.

The Ideologies:
0) Texhnolyization: Not a true faction, but a persistent reality of the world. It is the encroachment of science and technology on all things, and when integrated into a person invades their very perception of the world. It is used and abused, worshipped and reviled, at once an accomplishment and a horror, and thoroughly inhuman. While many look to it to create the next step for humanity, it alone cannot fulfill our quest for purpose.

1) The people of Gabe: these are the remnants of the old religious vision. They rely on the proclamations of an omniscient oracle to guide them. However, this reliance on authority collapses into an inflexible fatalism. Even seeing their doom coming they do nothing to prevent it, helpless in the face of such change.

2) Yoshii: Life is conflict. Coming from the “lifeless” above, he prizes the turbulent vitality that pervades Lux. It isn’t meaning he seeks but a respite from his own boredom. He only feels alive when he is adding to the havoc. However, ultimately he is killed, his activities come to naught.

3) The people above ground: They are alive, and nothing more can be said of them. They continue their decrepit existence in absence of hope or meaning, living in the past and steadily dying out because this is not enough to sustain them. Humans cannot just be cows in the field.

Some have suggested that they are a metaphor of heaven. I think it is more accurate to say that along with the Class (the people on the hill) they are a statement that there is no better place. Lux is what the world has to offer, and dreaming of a better place is folly. When Doc finds this out she commits suicide and Shinji (leader of the Racan) becomes psychotically unhinged.

4) Anti-Texhnolyze Alliance: Kimata and his group are the last persistent strands of romanticism. They believe in the natural man and loath tainting our essence with other sources. However, when faced with those who have become integrated with technology, the Shapes, they are torn apart. There is no returning to our origins.

5) Kano: An abandonment of humanity, he employs texhnolyzation to its fullest extent, replacing his followers in their entirety. Using these Shapes he seeks to enforce his vision and will on all of humanity. And in a sense he does win, or at least kills everybody who opposes him and leaves his followers stranded in place for eternity. He even incorporates Ran into his plan, which has a distinct whiff of fascism saying, “God is with us.” But nothing comes of it in the end. He takes over the world and then Ichise just punches his head off as violence is reciprocated with more violence. Close scene.

6) Onishi: Unlike the others, Onishi doesn’t represent an ideology so much as his own humanist principles, which is what draws Ichise and others to him. As his many antagonists note, he’s the one holding Lux together even as they try to tear it apart. He hears the voice of the city, a.k.a. Ran, a.k.a. God, and what remains of the religious values while not actually being religious. He is able to maintain his position in the face of all that happens. But in the end he is overwhelmed by the rising tide of violence; he might even be “right” but it does not matter.

I am confident that I have missed many more references and metaphors that await discussion.

The Good:
I have already said a great deal on the symbolic portrayal of ideas in Texhnolyze, but what remains to praise is its art and atmosphere.

All of this combines to create a clawing desolation to Texhnolyze. The spaces in the world remain empty, a chilling testament to the loss of humanity’s capacity to fill them any longer.

Interspersed with this void are the moments of climax, where for brief moments the characters feel alive. The screen positively vibrates with the intensity, as though just for now they are truly existing. It is reminiscent of The Stranger, wherein most of Meursault’s days are spent in persistent vacantness, only to feel reality rushing in at the moment of killing the Arab man.

The conclusion of Texhnolyze also deserves acclaim. All has come to an end, and only Ichise remains. He dies alone, but it is all over. It is a curious resolution, both extraordinarily sad yet also strangely mitigated by the vocals of the music. Seeing the last vision of a rising flower he smiles. The lyrics in the background serve to guide us, perhaps even comfort us, but not answer us:

“I dip my hands into this darknessThis is the ink of all of our lifetimesHere in this world of utter silenceLet the stones speak to meTattooed here across my skin, "I Will Live"Like a rose that grows from the wreckageBlood red, beautifulHow the storms all around me are now breathlessIs this the end of the raging roadThrough the tangled mind?Is this the end of starlit sky?Are we walking blind?Let me set out through this morningOpen arms to greet the empty agesReborn, see how I'm circlingI'm a sailor, eternal”

The Bad:
Texhnolyze is, quite frankly, a masterpiece. I have little in the way of significant criticism toward it on any front. From art and design to atmosphere and themes, it is a finely-crafted work. There is perhaps some merit in arguing that the series is quite slow, not character driven, or particularly enjoyable. But as I began my review, entertainment is not its purpose; it is a tour de force of modern intellectual estrangement, made manifest in the visual medium. The only reason I cannot bring myself to give it a 10/10 is due to personal disagreement with its message, not any failing on the part of the series itself.

AMVs:
I haven’t done these in some time, but Texhnolyze has a few AMVs that excellently capture its feeling in just a few short minutes:

Imagine: Low video quality, but the merging of the song and music is perfect.

Paper Clocks: Another AMV that captures the melancholy, unreal atmosphere of Texhnolyze.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Death Parade is one of the most heartfelt anime I have had the honor of reviewing, although at times against its own wishes. I am completely enamored with its core themes and bittersweet portrayal of life and death, but its insistence on incorporating superfluous characters and details obscures the power of its message. Death Billiards, the OVA that preceded Death Parade, is the distilled essence of that series. It is able to reach the same conclusion in 25 minutes that Death Parade takes 12 episodes to approach. However, paradoxically, I cannot find it in myself to rate it higher.

The problem comes from its very strength: in being succinct it is also less impactful. This can be seen most clearly in the difference in the characters between Death Billiards and Death Parade. In Death Billiards Decim is a compassionate observer, willing to embrace and support a man who realizes that his time is up. He is a fully realized arbiter: having seen so much suffering and pain, while knowing that he never had to experience it himself, all he can do is offer comfort to the fallen.

The woman in black, by comparison, is his bored and jaded cohort. When the old man has his head smashed into the glass, all she does is grimace in disgust and exasperation, as though to say, “What a mess this is for me.” She demonstrates no empathy or surprise. Her relationship with Decim is clearly that of the subordinate; she is familiar with him, and is genial with her interactions, but there is no doubt he is the deeper personality. But, like Decim, she is “complete.”

"I'm going to have to clean this up."

In Death Parade we are presented with a very different duo. Decim is cold and distant, a personality not much more animated than the marionettes he controls. Because of his aloofness, he is unable to fathom the multifaceted nature of humans. His method of judgement, to place people in extreme duress and analyze their reactions, only serves to bring out the worst in people. It is a cruel approach that ultimately fails. It is up to Chiyuki, a pure lost soul under his temporary care, to help him find the compassion required for a proper understanding of humanity. But she herself is also a work in progress: suffering from amnesia, she lacks a clear sense of herself and is casting about for answers.

Starting out this way, Death Parade in a sense takes a step back before it takes two steps forward. Its characters must originally be incomplete in order to undertake their journey to fullness. In this process we are able to observe firsthand Decim’s growing regard for Chiyuki’s kindness, his appreciation for her as a person, and the ultimate failure of his method of judgement on her. Conversely, Chiyuki comes to remember that she committed the worst of crimes against herself, and that what she has done inflicted untold suffering on those that loved her. Unlike Decim, however, she does not follow the arc that would lead to her Death Billiards self.

Using their mutual journey, and despite being burdened with unnecessary detours, Death Parade is able to reach the same place as Death Billiards but with more import. It is also able to address the conundrums that Death Billiards sidesteps. When Chiyuki asks Decim what happened to the two in Death Billiards, we are denied an answer. If the OVA uses the same signals as the series, then the masks over the elevators indicate that the old man was sent to hell smiling while the boyfriend was reincarnated in total disarray. This would seem strange in light of the events, and has spawned a number of theories. Did the old man’s last whisper offer to exchange himself for the younger one? Were the flashbacks of the old man’s life, which hint that he may have been something of a swaggering bully, indicate that singular instances of adultery and desperate violence are not nearly as reprehensible as a lifetime of arrogance? Or similarly, did he grin because he thought he had out-witted Decim: by playing the kindly old man did he sell himself to be reincarnated? Is this lead-in to Death Parade’s theme about the incoherence of judgement itself? Ultimately there may be no answer. This lack of resolution is artful on the part of Death Billiards; by leaving such loose ends it is able to expand its impact beyond the allotted time and offer good food for thought. It is at the same time unsatisfying, without the strength of message contained in Death Parade.

"Come at me, boy."

One final confounding factor I must remark on is the interference of previous knowledge. Going into Death Billiards blind, I suspect it is much more biting, for as a viewer you don’t realize that both men are already dead. The “reveal” is no surprise at all to veterans of Death Parade, and so it loses some of its potency through no fault of its own.

If you liked Death Parade then Death Billiards is worth the watch, and the same is true the other way around. I suspect there will be fans on both sides, since each has its strengths which are not entirely shared by the other; they are sibling works, not direct extensions of each other.